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"PATSY    MINDING  THE    KENNETT    BABY."     Page  41 


THE   STORY   OF   PATSY 


KATE   DOUGLAS   WIGGIN 


CAROL* 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1894 


Copyright,  1889, 
BY  KATE   DOUGLAS  WIGGIN. 

All  rights  reserved. 


FORTY-FOUKTH   THOUSAND. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Blectrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Company. 


To 
H.  C.  A. 

IN  REMEMBRANCE  OF  GLADNESS  GIVEN  TO 
SORROWFUL  LITTLE  LIVES 


**  The  young  lambs  are  bleating  in  the  meadows, 
The  young  birds  are  chirping  in  the  nest, 
The  young  fawns  are  playing  with  the  shadows, 
The  young  flowers  are  blowing  toward  the  west  — 
But  the  young,  young  children,  O  my  brothers, 

They  are  weeping  bitterly ! 
They  are  weeping  in  the  playtime  of  the  others 
In  the  country  of  the  free." 

MRS.  BROWNING 


THE  original  Story  of  Patsy  was  written  and  sold 
some  seven  years  ago  for  the  benefit  of  the  Silver 
Street  Free  Kindergartens  in  San  Francisco.  Now 
that  it  is  for  the  first  time  placed  in  the  hands  of 
publishers,  I  have  at  their  request  added  new  ma- 
terial, so  that  the  present  story  is  more  than  double 
the  length  of  the  original  brief  sketch. 

K  D.  W. 

NEW  YOKK,  March,  1889. 


CONTENTS  AND  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"  Patsy  minding  the  Kennett  Baby  "        .        .        .      Frontispiece 
Vignette Title 

PAGE 

I.  THE  SILVER  STREET  KINDERGARTEN 1 

II.  PATSY  COMES  TO  CALL 12 

"  Here 's  an  orange  I  brung  yer .'"          .  .         .         .18 

III.   Two  TRENTICE  HANDS  AT  PHILANTHROPY     ....  24 

Miss  Helen 28 

IV.  BEHIND  THE  SCENES 29 

"  The  boys  at  my  side  prattle  together  " 32 

"  Here  is  the  hat .' " 37 

V.  I  SEEK  PATSY,  AND  MEET  THE  DUCHESS  OF  ANNA  STREET  .  38 

"  The  Story  of  Victor  " 44 

VI.  A  LITTLE  "HOODLUM'S"  VIRTUE  KINDLES  AT  THE  TOUCH  OP 

JOY 46 

Carlotty  Griggs  "  being  a  Butterfly  " 50 

Paulina's  "  good-mornings  to  Johnny  Cass"  .         ...  56 

VII.  PATSY  FINDS  HIS  THREE  LOST  YEARS 57 

"  He  sat  silently  by  the  window"     ......  58 

Tail  Piece                       .  68 


THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 


CHAPTER  L 

THE   SILVER    STREET   KINDERGARTEN. 

"  It  makes  a  heaven-wide  difference  whether  the  soul  of  the  child  is  re- 
garded as  a  piece  of  blank  paper,  to  be  written  upon,  or  as  a  living  power, 
to  be  quickened  by  sympathy,  to  be  educated  by  truth." 

had  been  a  long,  wearisome  day  at  the 
Free  Kindergarten,  and  I  was  alone  in  the 
silent,  deserted  room.  Gone  were  all  the 
little  heads,  yellow  and  black,  curly  and  smooth; 
the  dancing,  restless,  curious  eyes ;  the  too  mischiev- 
ous, naughty,  eager  hands  and  noisy  feet;  the 
merry  voices  that  had  made  the  great  room  human, 
but  now  left  it  quiet  and  empty.  Eighty  pairs  of 
tiny  boots  had  clattered  down  the  stairs ;  eighty 
baby  woes  had  been  relieved ;  eighty  little  torn  coats 


2  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

pulled  on  with  patient  hands ;  eighty  shabby  little 
hats,  not  one  with  a  "  strawberry  mark  "  to  distin- 
guish it  from  any  other,  had  been  distributed  with 
infinite  discrimination  among  their  possessors  ;  num- 
berless sloppy  kisses  had  been  pressed  upon  a  willing 
cheek  or  hand,  and  another  day  was  over.  No,  — 
not  quite  over,  after  ah1.  A  murderous  yell  from 
below  brought  me  to  my  feet,  and  I  flew  like  an  anx- 
ious hen  to  my  brood.  One  small  quarrel  in  the 
hall ;  very  small,  but  it  must  be  inquired  into  on  the 
way  to  the  greater  one.  Mercedes  McGafferty  had 
taunted  Jenny  Crawhall  with  being  Irish.  The  fact 
that  she  herself  had  been  born  in  Cork  about  three 
years  previous  did  not  trouble  her  in  the  least. 
Jenny,  in  a  voice  choked  with  sobs,  and  with  the 
stamp  of  a  tiny  foot,  was  announcing  hotly  that  she 
was  "  NOT  Irish,  no  sech  a  thing,  —  she  was  Plesber- 
terian  !"  I  was  not  quite  clear  whether  this  was  a 
theological  or  racial  controversy,  but  I  settled  it 
speedily,  and  they  ran  off  together  hand  in  hand.  I 
hastened  to  the  steps.  The  yells  had  come  from  Joe 
Guinee  and  Mike  Higgins,  who  were  fighting  for  the 


THE  SILVER  STREET  KINDERGARTEN.  3 

possession  of  a  banana ;  a  banana,  too,  that  should 
have  been  fought  for,  if  at  all,  many  days  before,  — 
a  banana  better  suited,  in  its  respectable  old  age, 
to  peaceful  consumption  than  the  fortunes  of  war. 
My  unexpected  apparition  had  such  an  effect  that 
I  might  have  been  an  avenging  angel.  The  boys 
dropped  the  banana  simultaneously,  and  it  fell  to  the 
steps  quite  exhausted,  in  such  a  condition  that  who- 
ever proved  to  be  in  the  right  would  get  but  little 
enjoyment  from  it. 

"  0  my  boys,  my  boys  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  did  you 
forget  so  soon  ?  What  shall  we  do  ?  Must  Miss 
Kate  f oUow  you  everywhere  ?  If  that  is  the  only 
way  in  which  you  can  be  good,  we  might  as  well 
give  up  trying.  Must  I  watch  you  to  the  corner 
every  day,  no  matter  how  tired  I  am  ?  " 

Two  grimy  little  shirt  bosoms  heaved  with  shame 
and  anger ;  two  pairs  of  eyes  hid  themselves  under 
protecting  lids ;  two  pairs  of  moist  and  stained 
hands  sought  the  shelter  of  charitable  pockets,  — 
then  the  cause  of  war  was  declared  by  Mike  sulkily, 

"  Joe  Guinee  hooked  my  bernanner." 


4  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  I  never  ! "  said  Joe  hotly.  "  I  swapped  with  him 
f 'r  a  peach,  'n  he  e't  the  peach  at  noon-time,  'n  then 
would  n't  gimme  no  bernanner." 

"  The  peach  warn't  no  good,"  Mike  interpolated 
swiftly,  seeing  my  expression,  —  "  it  warn't  no  good, 
Miss  Kate.  When  I  come  to  eat  it  I  had  ter  chuck 
half  of  it  away,  'nd  then  Joe  Guinee  went  t'  my 
lunch  bucket  and  hooked  my  bernanner  !  " 

I  sat  down  on  the  top  step,  motioned  the  culprits 
to  do  likewise,  and  then  began  dispensing  justice 
tempered  with  mercy  for  the  twenty-fifth  time  that 
day.  "  Mike,  you  say  Joe  took  your  banana  ?  " 

"  Yes  'm,  —  he  hooked  it." 

"  Same  thing.  You  have  your  words  and  I  have 
mine,  and  I  've  told  you  before  that  mine  mean  just 
as  much  and  sound  a  little  better.  But  I  thought 
that  you  changed  that  banana  for  a  peach,  and  ate 
the  peach?" 

"I  did." 

"  Then,  why  was  n't  that  banana  Joe's  ?  —  you  had 
taken  his  peach." 

"  He  had  n't  oughter  hooked  —  took  it  out  o'  my 
bucket." 


THE  SILVER  STREET  KINDERGARTEN.          <S 

"  No,  and  you  ought  not  to  have  put  it  into  your 
bucket." 

"  He  hooked  —  took  what  warn't  his." 

"  You  kept  what  was  n't  yours.  How  do  you  ex- 
pect to  have  a  good  fruit  store,  either  of  you,  by  and 
by,  and  have  people  buy  your  things,  if  you  have  n't 
any  idea  of  making  a  good  square  trade  ?  Do  try 
to  be  honest ;  and  if  you  make  an  exchange  stick  to 
it ;  fighting  over  a  thing  never  makes  it  any  better. 
Look  at  that  banana  !  —  is  it  any  good  to  either  of 
you  now  ?  "  (Pause.  The  still  small  voice  was  busy, 
but  no  sound  was  heard  save  the  distant  whistle  of 
the  janitor.) 

"  I  could  bring  another  one  to  Joe  to-morrer," 
said  Mike,  looking  at  his  ragged  boot  and  scratching 
it  along  the  edge  of  the  step. 

"  I  don't  want  yer  to,  'f  the  peach  was  sour  'n  you 
had  ter  chuck  it  away,"  responded  Joe  amiably. 

"Yes,  I  think  he  ought  to  bring  the  banana; 
he  made  the  trade  with  his  eyes  open,  and  the  peach 
did  n't  look  sour,  for  I  saw  you  squeezing  it  when 
you  ought  to  have  been  singing  your  morning 


6  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

hymn,  —  I  thought  you  would  get  into  trouble  with 
it  then.  Now  is  it  all  right,  Mike  ?  —  that 's  good  ! 
And  Joe,  don't  go  poking  into  other  people's  lunch 
baskets.  If  you  had  n't  done  that,  you  silly  boy," 
I  philosophized  whimsically  for  my  own  edification, 
fe  you  would  have  been  a  victim ;  but  you  de- 
scended to  the  level  of  your  adversary,  and  you  are 
now  simply  another  little  rascal." 

We  walked  down  the  quiet,  narrow  street  to  the 
corner,  —  a  proceeding  I  had  intended  to  omit  that 
day,  as  it  was  always  as  exciting  as  an  afternoon 
tea,  and  I  did  not  feel  equal  to  the  social  chats  that 
would  be  pressed  upon  me  by  the  neighborhood 
"  ladies."  One  of  my  good  policemen  was  there  as 
usual,  and  saluted  me  profoundly.  He  had  carried 
the  last  baby  over  the  crossing,  and  guided  all  the 
venturesome  small  boys  through  the  maze  of  trucks 
and  horse-cars,  —  a  difficult  and  thankless  task,  as 
they  absolutely  courted  decapitation,  —  it  being  an 
unwritten  law  of  conduct  that  each  boy  should  weave 
his  way  through  the  horses'  legs  if  practicable,  and 
if  not,  should  see  how  near  he  could  come  to  grazing 


THE  SILVER   STREET  KINDERGARTEN.  1 

the  wheels.  Exactly  at  twelve  o'clock,  and  again  at 
two  each  day,  in  rain  or  sunshine,  a  couple  of  huge 
fatherly  persons  in  brass  buttons  appeared  on  that 
corner  and  assisted  us  in  getting  our  youngsters  into 
streets  of  safety.  Nobody  had  ever  asked  them  to 
come,  their  chief  had  not  detailed  them  for  that  spe- 
cial duty ;  and  I  could  never  have  been  bold  enough 
to  suggest  that  a  guardian  of  the  peace  with  an  im- 
maculate uniform  should  carry  to  and  fro  a  crowd  of 
small  urchins  with  dusty  boots  and  sticky  hands. 

But  everybody  loved  that  Silver  Street  corner, 
where  the  quiet  little  street  met  the  larger  noisy  one ! 
Not  a  horse-car  driver  but  looked  at  his  brake  and 
glanced  up  the  street  before  he  took  his  car  across. 
The  truckmen  all  drove  slowly,  calling  "  Hi,  thsre !  " 
genially  to  any  youngster  within  half  a  block. 

And  it  was  a  pleasant  scene  enough  to  one  who 
had  a  part  in  it,  who  was  able  to  care  for  simple  peo- 
ple, who  could  be  glad  to  see  them  happy,  sorry 
to  see  them  sad,  and  willing  to  live  among  them  a 
part  of  each  day,  and  bring  a  little  sunshine  and 
hope  into  their  lives. 


8  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Donohue !  All  safely 
across  ?  " 

"  All  safe,  miss  !  Sorry  you  troubled  to  come 
down,  miss.  I  can  be  depended  on  for  this  corner, 
miss,  an'  ye  niver  need  botber  yerself  about  tbe  chil- 
dern  after  ye  've  once  turned  'em  loose,  miss.  An' 
might  I  be  so  bold,  seein'  as  how  I  might  not  have  a 
better  chance  —  would  ye  be  so  kind  as  to  favor  me 
with  yer  last  name,  miss?  the  truth  bein'  that  ivery 
one  calls  ye  Miss  Kate,  an'  the  policemen  of  this 
ward  is  gettin'  up  rather  a  ch'ice  thing  in  Christmas 
cards  to  presint  to  ye,  come  Christmas,  because,  if 
ye  '11  excuse  the  liberty,  miss,  they  do  regard  you  as 
belongin'  to  the  special  police !  " 

I  laughed,  thanked  him  for  the  intended  honor, 
which  had  been  mentioned  to  me  before,  and  gave 
him  my  card,  not  without  a  spasm  of  terror  lest  the 
entire  police  force  should  invade  my  dwelling. 

The  "  baker  lady "  across  the  street  caught  my 
eye,  smiled,  and  sent  over  a  hot  bun  in  a  brown 
paper  bag.  The  "  grocery  lady  "  called  over  in  a 
clear,  ringing  tone,  "  Would  you  be  so  kind,  'm,  as  to 


THE  SILVER   STREET  KINDERGARTEN.  9 

step  inside  on  your  way  'ome  and  fetch  'Enry  a  bit 
of  work,  'm  ?  'Enry  'as  the  'ooping  cough,  'm,  and 
I  don't  know  'owever  I  'm  goin'  to  keep  'im  at  'ome 
another  day,  'm,  he  pines  for  school  so  !  " 

I  give  a  nod  which  means,  Certainly  ! 

Mrs.  Weiss  appeared  at  her  window  above  the 
grocery  with  a  cloth  wound  about  her  head ;  ap- 
peared, and  then  vanished  mysteriously.  Very  well, 
Mr.  Weiss,  —  you  know  what  to  expect !  I  gave  you 
fair  warning  last  time,  and  I  shall  be  as  good  as  my 
word !  Good  heavens  !  Is  that  —  it  can't  be  — 
yes,  it  is  —  a  new  McDonald  baby  at  the  saloon 
door !  And  there  was  such  a  superfluity  of  the 
McDonald  clan  before !  One  more  wretched  little 
human  soul  precipitated  without  a  welcome  into  such 
a  family  circle  as  that !  It  set  me  thinking,  as  I 
walked  slowly  back  and  toiled  up  the  steps.  "I 
suppose  most  .people  would  call  this  a  hard  and  mo- 
notonous life,"  I  mused.  "  There  is  an  eternal  regu- 
larity in  the  succession  of  amusing  and  heart-break- 
ing incidents,  but  it  is  not  monotonous,  for  I  am  too 
close  to  all  the  problems  that  bother  this  workaday 


10  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

world,  —  so  close  that  they  touch  me  on  every  side. 
No  missionary  can  come  so  near  to  these  people.  I 
am  so  close  that  I  can  feel  the  daily  throb  of  their 
need,  and  they  can  feel  the  throb  of  my  sympathy. 
Oh  !  it  is  work  fit  for  a  saviour  of  men,  and  what  — 
what  can  I  do  with  it  ?  " 

I  sank  into  my  small  rocking-chair,  and,  clasping 
my  arms  over  my  head,  bent  it  upon  the  table  and 
closed  my  eyes. 

The  dazzling  California  sunshine  streamed  in  at 
the  western  windows,  touched  the  "gold-fish  globes 
with  rosy  glory,  glittered  on  the  brass  bird-cages, 
flung  a  splendid  halo  round  the  meek  head  of  the 
Madonna  above  my  table,  and  poured  a  flood  of 
grateful  heat  over  my  shoulders.  The  clatter  of  a 
tin  pail  outside  the  door,  the  uncertain  turning  of 
a  knob  by  a  hand  too  small  to  grasp  it :  "I  for- 
gitted  my  lunch  bucket,  'n  had  to  come  back  five 
blocks.  Good-by,  Miss  Kate."  (Kiss.)  "  Good-by, 
little  man ;  run  along."  Another  step,  and  a 
curly  little  red  head  pushes  itself  apologetically 
through  the  open  door.  "  You  never  dave  me  back 
my  string  and  buzzer,  Miss  Kate-"  "Here  it  is; 


THE  SILVER   STREET  KINDERGARTEN.         11 

leave  it  at  home  to-morrow  if  you  can,  dear,  —  will 
you  ?  " 

Silence  again,  this  time  continued  and  profound. 
Mrs.  Weiss  was  evidently  not  coming  to-day  to  ask 
me  if  she  should  give  blow  for  blow  in  her  next 
connubial  fracas.  I  was  thankful  to  be  spared  un- 
til the  morrow,  when  I  should  perhaps  have  greater 
strength  to  attack  Mr.  Weiss,  and  see  what  I  could 
do  for  Mrs.  Pulaski's  dropsy,  and  find  a  mourning 
bonnet  and  shawl  for  the  Gabilondo's  funeral  and 
clothes  for  the  new  Higgins  twins.  (Oh,  Mrs.  Hig- 
gins,  would  not  one  have  sufficed  you  ?) 

The  events  of  the  day  march  through  my  tired 
brain ;  so  tired !  so  tired  !  and  just  a  bit  discouraged 
and  sad  too.  Had  I  been  patient  enough  with  the 
children  ?  Had  I  forgiven  cheerfully  enough  the 
seventy  times  seven  sins  of  omission  and  commis- 
sion ?  Had  I  poured  out  the  love  —  bountiful,  dis- 
interested, long-suffering  —  of  which  God  shows  us 
the  measure  and  fullness?  Had  I —  But  the 
sun  dropped  lower  and  lower  behind  the  dull  brown 
hills,  and  exhausted  nature  found  a  momentary  for- 
getf  ulness  in  sleep. 


CHAPTER  H. 

PATSY    COMES    TO    CALL. 

"  When  a'  ither  bairnies  are  hushed  to  their  hame 
By  aunty,  or  cousin,  or  frecky  grand-dame, 
Wha  stands  last  and  lanely,  an'  naebody  carin '  ? 
'T  is  the  puir  doited  loonie,  —  the  mitherless  bairn !  " 

JUDDENLY  I  was  awakened  by  a  subdued 
and  apologetic  cough.  Starting  from  my 
nap,  I  sat  bolt  upright  in  astonishment,  for 
quietly  ensconced  in  a  small  red  chair  by  my  table, 
and  sitting  still  as  a  mouse,  was  the  weirdest  appari- 
tion ever  seen  in  human  form.  A  boy,  seeming  — 
how  many  years  old  shall  I  say  ?  for  in  some  ways 
he  might  have  been  a  century  old  when  he  was  born 
—  looking,  in  fact,  as  if  he  had  never  been  young, 
and  would  never  grow  older.  He  had  a  shrunken, 
somewhat  deformed  body,  a  curious,  melancholy 
face,  and  such  a  head  of  dust-colored  hair  that  he 


PATSY  COMES   TO  CALL.  13 

might  have  been  shocked  for  a  door-mat.  The  sole 
redeemers  of  the  countenance  were  two  big",  pa- 
thetic, soft  dark  eyes,  so  appealing  that  one  could 
hardly  meet  their  glance  without  feeling  instinc- 
tively in  one's  pocket  for  a  biscuit  or  a  ten-cent 
piece.  But  such  a  face  !  He  had  apparently  made 
an  attempt  at  a  toilet  without  the  aid  of  a  mirror, 
for  there  was  a  clean  circle  like  a  race-track  round 
his  nose,  which  member  reared  its  crest,  untouched 
and  grimy,  from  the  centre,  like  a  sort  of  judge's 
stand,  while  the  dusky  rim  outside  represented  the 
space  for  audience  seats. 

I  gazed  at  this  astonishing  diagram  of  a  counte- 
nance for  a  minute,  spellbound,  thinking  it  resembled 
nothing  so  much  as  a  geological  map,  marked  with 
coal  deposits.  And  as  for  his  clothes,  his  jacket 
was  ragged  and  arbitrarily  docked  at  the  waist, 
while  one  of  his  trousers-legs  was  slit  up  at  the  side, 
and  flapped  hither  and  thither  when  he  moved,  like 
a  lug-sail  in  a  calm. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  I  at  length,  waking  up  to  my 
duties  as  hostess,  "  did  you  come  to  see  me  ?  " 


14  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  Let  me  think  ;  I  don't  seem  to  remember ;  I  am 
so  sleepy.  Are  you  one  of  my  little  friends  ?  " 

"  No,  I  hain't  yit,  but  I  'm  goin'  to  be." 

"  That 's  good,  and  we  '11  begin  right  now,  shall 
we?" 

"  I  knowed  yer  fur  Miss  Kate  the  minute  I  seen 
yer." 

"How  was  that,  eh?" 

"  The  boys  said  as  how  you  was  a  kind  o'  pretty 
lady,  with  towzly  hair  in  front."  (Shades  of  my 
cherished  curls !) 

"  I  'm  very  much  obliged  to  the  boys." 

"  Kin  yer  take  me  in  ?  " 

"  What  ?     Here  ?     Into  the  Kindergarten  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  bin  waitin'  this  yer  long  whiles  fur  to 
git  in." 

"  Why,  my  dear  little  boy,"  gazing  dubiously  at 
his  contradictory  countenance,  "  you  're  too  —  big, 
are  n't  you  ?  We  have  only  tiny  little  people  here, 
you  know ;  not  six  years  old.  You  are  more,  are  n't 

you?" 


PATSY  COMES   TO   CALL.  15 

"  Well,  I  'm  nine  by  the  book ;  but  I  ain't  more  'n 
scerce  six  along  o'  my  losing  them  three  year." 

"What  do  you  mean,  child?  How  could  you 
lose  three  years  ?  "  cried  I,  more  and  more  puzzled 
by  my  curious  visitor. 

"  I  lost  'em  on  the  back  stairs,  don't  yer  know. 
My  father  he  got  fightin'  mad  when  he  was  drunk, 
and  pitched  me  down  two  flights  of  'em,  and  my 
back  was  most  clean  broke  in  two,  so  I  could  n't  git 
out  o'  bed  forever,  till  just  now." 

"  Why,  poor  child,  who  took  care  of  you  ?  " 

"  Mother  she  minded  me  when  she  warn't  out 
washin'." 

"  And  did  she  send  you  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  Well !  however  could  she,  bein'  as  how  she  's 
dead  ?  I  s'posed  you  knowed  that.  She  died  after 
I  got  well ;  she  only  waited  for  me  to  git  up,  any- 
how." 

0  God !  these  poor  mothers  !  they  bite  back  the 
cry  of  their  pain,  and  fight  death  with  love  so  long 
as  they  have  a  shred  of  strength  for  the  battle ! 

"  What 's  your  name,  dear  boy  ?  " 


16  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Patsy." 

"Patsy  what?" 

"  Patsy  nothin'  !  just  only  Patsy ;  that 's  all  of 
it.  The  boys  calls  me  '  Humpty  Dumpty '  and 
*  Rags,'  but  that 's  sassy." 

"  But  all  little  boys  have  another  name,  Patsy." 

"  Oh,  I  got  another,  if  yer  so  dead  set  on  it,  —  it 's 
Dinnis,  —  but  Jim  says  't  won't  wash  ;  't  ain't  no 
'count,  and  I  would  n't  teU  yer  nothin'  but  a  sure- 
pop  name,  and  that 's  Patsy.  Jim  says  lots  of  other 
fellers  out  to  the  'sylum  has  Dinnis  fur  names,  and 
they  ain't  worth  shucks,  nuther.  Dinnis  he  must 
have  had  orful  much  boys,  I  guess." 

"  Who  is  Jim  ?  " 

"  Him  and  I 's  brothers,  kind  o'  brothers,  not  sure 
'miff  brothers.  Oh,  I  dunno  how  it  is  'zactly,  — 
Jim  '11  tell  yer.  He  dunno  as  I  be,  yer  know,  'n  he 
dunno  but  I  be,  'n  he  's  afeard  to  leave  go  o'  me  for 
fear  I  be.  See?" 

"  Do  you  and  Jim  live  together  ?  " 

**  Yes,  we  live  at  Mis'  Kennett's.  Jim  swipes  the 
grub ;  I  build  the  fires  'n  help  cook  'n  wipe  dishes 


PATSY  COMES   TO  CALL.  17 

for  Jim  when  I  ain't  sick,  'n  I  mind  Miss  Kennett's 
babies  right  along,  —  she  most  allers  has  new  ones, 
'n  she  gives  me  my  lunch  for  doin'  it." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Kennett  nice  and  kind  ?  " 

"  0-h,  yes ;  she 's  orful  busy,  yer  know,  'n  won't 
stand  no  foolinV 

"  Is  there  a  Mr.  Kennett  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  there  is,  'n  most  allers  there  ain't." 

My  face  by  this  time  was  an  animated  interroga- 
tion point.  My  need  of  explanation  must  have 
been  hopelessly  evident,  for  he  hastened  to  add  foot- 
notes to  the  original  text. 

"  He  's  allers  out  o'  work,  yer  know,  'n  he  don't 
sleep  ter  home,  'n  if  yer  want  him  yer  have  to  hunt 
him  up.  He 's  real  busy  now,  though,  —  doin' 
fine." 

"  That 's  good.     What  does  he  do  ?  " 

"  He  marches  with  the  workingmen's  percessions 
Jn  holds  banners." 

"I  see."  The  Labor  Problem  and  the  Chinese 
Question  were  the  great  topics  of  interest  in  all 
grades  of  California  society  just  then.  My  mission 


18  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

in  life  was  to  keep  the  children  of  these  marching 
and  banner-holding  laborers  from  going1  to  destruc- 
tion. 

"  And  you  have  n't  any  father,  poor  little  man  ?  " 

"  Yer  bet  yer  life  I  don't  want  no  more  father  in 
mine.  He  knocked  me  down  them  stairs,  and  then 
he  went  off  in  a  ship,  and  I  don't  go  a  cent  on 
fathers  !  Say,  is  this  a  'zamination  ?  " 

I  was  a  good  deal  amused  and  should  have  felt  a 
little  rebuked,  had  I  asked  a  single  question  from 
idle  curiosity.  "  Yes,  it 's  a  sort  of  one,  Patsy,  — 
all  the  kind  we  have." 

"  And  do  I  hev  to  bring  any  red  tape  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  Jim  said  he  bet  't  would  take  an  orf ul  lot 
o'  red  tape  t'  git  me  in." 

Here  he  withdrew  with  infinite  trouble  from  his 
ragged  pocket  an  orange,  or  at  least  the  remains  of 
one,  which  seemed  to*  have  been  fiercely  dealt  with 
by  circumstances. 

"  Here 's  an  orange  I  brung  yer !  It 's  been 
skwuz  some,  but  there  's  more  in  it." 


'HERE'S   AN    ORANGE   I    BRUNG   YER."     Page  t& 


PATSY  COMES   TO  CALL.  19 

"  Thank  you,  Patsy."  (Forced  expression  of  ra- 
diant gratitude.)  "  Now,  let  us  see  !  You  want 
to  come  to  the  Kindergarten,  do  you,  and  learn  to 
be  a  happy  little  working  boy?  But  oh,  Patsy, 
I  'm  like  the  old  woman  in  the  shoe,  I  have  so  many 
children  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Jim  knows  a  boy  what  went  here 
wunst.  He  said  yer  never  licked  the  boys ;  and  he 
said,  when  the  '  nifty '  little  girls  come  to  git  in, 
with  their  white  aprons,  yer  said  there  warn't  no 
room ;  but  when  the  dirty  chaps  with  tored  close 
come,  yer  said  yer  'd  make  room.  Jim  said  as  how 
yer  'd  never  show  me  the  door,  sure."  (Bless  Jim's 
heart !)  "  P'raps  I  can't  come  every  day,  yer  know, 
'cos  I  might  have  fits." 

"  Fits  !  Good  gracious,  child  !  What  makes  you 
think  that  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  has  'em"  (composedly).  "I  kicks  the 
footboard  clean  off  when  I  has  'em  bad,  all  along 
o'  my  losin'  them  three  year!  Why,  yer  got  an 
orgind,  hain't  yer  ?  Where 's  the  handle  fur  to 
make  it  go  ?  Could  n't  I  blow  it  for  yer  ?  " 


20  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  It 's  a  piano,  not  an  organ ;  it  does  n't  need 
blowing." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  one  in  a  s'loon ;  I  seen  such  an 
orful  pretty  lady  play  on  one.  She  give  her  silk 
dress  a  swish  to  one  side,  so  /  and  then  she  cocked 
her  head  .over  sideways  like  a  bird,  and  then  her 
hands,  all  jinglin'  over  with  rings,  went  a-whizzin' 
up  and  down  them  black  and  white  teeth  just  like 
sixty !  " 

"  You  know,  Patsy,  I  can't  bear  to  have  my  little 
Kindergarten  boys  stand  around  the  saloon  doors ; 
it  is  n't  a  good  place,  and  if  you  want  to  be  good 
men  you  must  learn  to  be  good  little  boys  first; 
don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  wanted  some  kind  of  fun.  I  seen  a  cir- 
kis  wunst,  —  that  was  fun  !  I  seen  it  through  a 
hole ;  it  takes  four  bits  to  git  inside  the  tent,  and 
me  and  another  feller  found  a  big  hole  and  went 
halveys  on  it.  First  he  give  a  peek,  and  then  I  give 
a  peek,  and  he  was  bigger  'n  me,  and  he  took  orful 
long  peeks,  he  did,  'nd  when  it  come  my  turn  the 
ladies  had  just  allers  jumped  through  the  hoops,  or 


PATSY  COMES   TO  CALL.  21 

the  horses  was  gone  out ;  'nd  bimeby  he  said  mebbe 
we  might  give  the  hole  a  stretch  and  make  it  a  little 
mite  bigger,  it  would  n't  do  no  harm,  'nd  I  'd  better 
cut  it,  'cos  his  fingers  was  lame  ;  'nd  I  just  cutted  it 
a  little  mite,  V  a  cop  come  up  behind  and  h'isted 
us  and  I  never  seen  no  more  cirkis ;  but  I  went  to 
Sunday-school  wunst,  and  it  warn't  so  much  fun  as 
the  cirkis  !  " 

I  thought  I  would  not  begin  moral  lectures  at 
once,  but  seize  a  more  opportune  time  to  compare  the 
relative  claims  of  Sunday-school  and  circus. 

"  You  've  got  things  fixed  up  mighty  handy  here, 
have  n't  yer  ?  It 's  most  as  good  as  Woodward's 
Gardens,  —  fishes  —  'nd  c'nary  birds  —  'nd  flowers 
—  'nd  pictures  —  is  there  stories  to  any  of  'em  ?  " 

"  Stories  to  every  single  one,  Patsy !  We  've  just 
turned  that  corner  by  the  little  girl  feeding  chickens, 
and  to-morrow  we  shah1  begin  on  that  splendid  dog 
by  the  window." 

Patsy's  face  was  absolutely  radiant  with  excite- 
ment. "  Jiminy  !  I  'm  glad  I  got  in  in  time  for 
that !  —  'nd  ain't  that  a  bear  by  the  door  thar  ?  " 


22  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Yes ;  that 's  a  mother  bear  with  cubs." 
"  Has  he  got  a  story  too  ?  " 
"  Everything  has  a  story  in  this  room." 
"  Jiminy  !    'ts   lucky   I   did  n't  miss   that   one  ! 
There 's  a  splendid  bear  in  a  s'loon  on  Fourth  Street, 
—  mebbe  the  man  would  leave  him  go  a  spell  if  you 
told  him  what  a  nice  place  you  hed  up  here.     Say, 
them  fishes  keep  it  up  lively,  don't  they  ?  —  s'pose 
they  're  playin'  tag?  " 

"  I  should  n't  wonder,"  I  said  smilingly ;  "  it  looks 
like  it.  Now,  Patsy,  I  must  be  going  home,  but 
you  shah1  come  to-morrow,  at  nine  o'clock  surely,  re- 
member !  and  the  children  will  be  so  glad  to  have 
another  little  friend.  You  '11  dress  yourself  nice  and 
clean,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  smile  !  but  these  is  the  best  I 
got.  I  got  another  part  to  this  hat,  though,  and 
another  pocket  belongs  with  these  britches."  (He 
alternated  the  crown  and  rim  of  a  hat,  but  was 
never  extravagant  enough  to  wear  them  at  one 
time.)  t6  Ain't  I  clean  ?  I  cleaned  myself  by  the 
feelin* ! " 


PATSY  COMES   TO  CALL.  23 

"  Here  's  a  glass,  dear ;  how  do  you  think  you 
succeeded  ?  " 

"  Jiminy !  I  did  n't  get  much  of  a  sweep  on  that, 
did  I  now  ?  But  don't  you  fret,  I  've  got  the  lay  of 
it  now,  and  I  '11  just  polish  her  off  red-hot  to-morrer, 
'n  don't  you  forgit  it !  " 

"  Patsy,  here  's  a  warm  bun  and  a  glass  of  milk  ; 
let 's  eat  and  drink  together,  because  this  is  the  be- 
ginning of  our  friendship;  but  please  don't  talk 
street  words  to  Miss  Kate ;  she  does  n't  like  them. 
I  '11  do  everything  I  can  to  make  you  have  a  good 
time,  and  you'll  try  to  do  a  few  things  to  please 
me,  won't  you  ?  " 

Patsy  looked  embarrassed,  ate  his  bit  of  bun  in 
silence,  and  after  twirling  his  hat-crown  for  a  few 
seconds  hitched  out  of  the  door  with  a  backward 
glance  and  muttered  remark  which  must  have  been 
intended  for  farewell. 


CHAPTER  in. 

TWO    'PKENTICE    HANDS   AT    PHILANTHROPY. 

"  With  aching  hands  and  bleeding  feet, 
We  dig  and  heap,  lay  stone  on  stone ; 
We  bear  the  burden  and  the  heat 
Of  the  long  day  and  wish  't  were  done. 
Not  till  the  hours  of  light  return 
All  we  have  built  do  we  discern." 

JATSY   had   scarcely  gone  when   the  door 
opened  again  the  least  bit,  and  a  sunny  face 
looked  in,  that  of  my  friend  and  helper. 
"  Not  gone  yet,  Kate  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  thought  I  sent  you  away  long  ago." 
"  Yes,  I  know,  but  I  've  been  to  see  Danny  Kern's 
mother :  there  is  nothing  to  be   done  ;  we  must  do 
our  best  and  leave  it  there.      Was  that  a  boy  I  met 
on  the  stairs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  that  is,  he  is  a  boy  in  the  sense  that  he 
is  not  a  girl.  Oh,  Helen,  such  a  story  !  We  must 
take  him !  " 


TWO  'PRENTICE  HANDS  AT  PHILANTHROPY.     25 

She  sank  Helplessly  on  one  of  the  children's  ta- 
bles. "  Now,  niy  dear  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend, 
did  you  happen  to  notice  my  babies  this  morning  ? 
They  were  legion  !  Our  mothers  must  have  heard 
that  the  Flower  Mission  intended  giving  us  some 
Thanksgiving  dinners,  for  there  were  our  five  inevi- 
table little  cat's-paws,  —  the  identical  five  that  ap- 
plied just  before  the  Christmas  tree,  disappeared  in 
vacation,  turned  up  the  day  before  we  went  to  the 
Mechanics'  Fair,  were  lost  to  sight  the  day  after, 
presented  themselves  previous  to  the  Woodward's 
Garden  expedition,  and  then  went  into  retirement 
till  to-day.  Where  am  I  going  to  '  sit '  another 
child,  pray  ?  They  were  two  in  a  seat  and  a  dozen 
on  the  floor  this  morning.  It  isn't  fair  to  them,  in 
one  sense,  for  they  don't  get  half  enough  attention." 

"  You  are  right,  dear ;  work  half  done  is  worse 
than  wasted ;  but  it  is  n't  fair  to  this  child  to  leave 
him  where  he  is." 

"  Oh,  I  know.  I  feel  Fridayish,  to  tell  the  truth. 
I  shall  love  humanity  again  by  Monday.  Have  we 
money  for  more  chairs  or  benches  ?  " 


26  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  You  '11  have  to  print  an  appeal  for  chairs ;  and 
the  children  may  wear  out  the  floor  sitting  on  it  be- 
fore the  right  people  read  it !  " 

"  Yes ;  and  oh,  Helen,  a  printed  appeal  is  such 
a  dead  thing,  after  all.  If  I  could  only  fix  on  a 
printed  page  Danny  Kern's  smile  when  he  con- 
quered his  temper  yesterday,  put  into  type  that 
hand  clasp  of  Mrs.  Finnigan's  that  sent  such  a  thrill 
of  promise  to.  our  hearts,  show  a  subscriber  Mrs. 
Guinee's  quivering  lips  when  she  thanked  us  for  the 
change  in  Joe,  —  why,  we  should  n't  need  money 
very  long." 

"  That  is  true.  What  a  week  we  have  had,  Kate, 
- —  like  a  little  piece  of  the  millennium  !  " 

"  You  must  not  be  disappointed  if  next  week  is  n't 
as  good ;  that  could  hardly  be.  Let 's  see,  —  Mrs. 
Daniels  began  it  on  Monday  morning,  didn't  she, 
by  giving  the  caps  for  the  boys  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Helen  dismally,  "  a  generous  but 
misguided  benefactress  !  Forty-three  caps  precisely 
alike  save  as  to  size  !  What  scenes  of  carnage  we 


TWO  'PRENTICE  HANDS  AT  PHILANTHROPY.     27 

shall  witness  when  we  distribute  them  three  times  a 
day ! " 

"  We  must  remedy  that  by  sewing  labels  into  the 
crowns,  each  marked  with  the  child's  name  in  indeli- 
ble ink." 

"  Exactly,  —  what  a  charming  task  !  I  shall  have 
to  write  my  cherubs'  names,  I  suppose,  —  most  of 
them  will  take  a  yard  of  tape  apiece.  I  already 
recall  Paulina  Strozynski,  Mercedes  McGafferty,  and 
Sigismund  Braunschweiger." 

"  And  I,  Maria  Virginia  de  Rejas  Perkins,  Half- 
dan  Christiansen,  and  Americo  Vespucci  Garibaldi." 

"This  is  our  greatest  misfortune  since  the  do- 
nation of  the  thirty-seven  little  red  plaid  shawls. 
Well,  good-night.  By  the  way,  what 's  his  name  ?  " 

"  Patsy  Dennis.  I  shah1  take  him.  I  '11  tell  you 
more  on  Monday.  Please  step  into  Gilbert's  and 
buy  a  comfortable  little  cane-seated  armchair,  larger 
than  these,  and  ask  one  of  your  good  Samaritans 
to  make  a  soft  cushion  for  it.  We  '11  give  him  the 
table  that  we  had  made  for  Johnny  Cass.  Poor 
Johnny !  I  am  sorry  he  has  a  successor  so  soon." 


28 


THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 


In  five  minutes  I  was  taking  my  homeward  walk, 
mind  and  heart  full  of  my  elfish  visitor,  with  his 
strange  and  ancient  thoughts,  his  sharp  speeches 
and  queer  fancies.  Would  he  ever  come  back,  or 
would  one  of  those  terrible  spasms  end  his  life  be- 
fore I  was  permitted  to  help  and  ease  his  crooked 
body,  or  pour  a  bit  of  mother-love  into  his  starved 
little  heart? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 

Some  children  are  like  little  human  scrawl-books,  blotted  all  over  with 
tha  sins  and  mistakes  of  their  ancestors. 

10NDAY  morning  came  as  mornings  do  come, 
bringing  to  the  overworked  body  and  mind 
a  certain  languor  difficult  to  shake  off.  As 
I  walked  down  the  dirty  little  street,  with  its  rows 
of  old-clothes  shops,  saloons,  and  second-hand-furni- 
ture stores,  I  called  several  of  my  laggards,  and  gave 
them  a  friendly  warning.  "  Quarter  of  nine,  Mrs. 
Finnigan  !  "  "  Bless  me  soul,  darlin' !  Well,  I  will 
hurry  up  my  childern,  that  I  will ;  but  the  baby  was 
that  bad  with  whoopin'-cough  last  night  that  I  never 
got  three  winks  meself,  darlin' !  " 

"  All  right ;  never  mind  the  apron  ;  let  Jimmy 
walk  on  with  me,  and  I  will  give  him  one  at  school." 


30  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

Jimmy  trots  proudly  at  my  side,  munching  a  bit  of 
baker's  pie  and  carrying  my  basket.  I  drop  into 
Mrs.  Powers'  suite  of  apartments  in  Rosalie  Alley, 
and  find  Lafayette  Powers  still  in  bed.  His  twelve- 
year-old  sister  and  guardian,  Hildegarde,  has  over- 
slept, as  usual,  and  breakfast  is  not  in  sight.  Mrs. 
Powers  goes  to  a  dingy  office  up  town  at  eight 
o'clock,  her  present  mission  in  life  being  the  heal- 
ing of  the  nations  by  means  of  mental  science.  It 
is  her  fourth  vocation  in  two  years,  the  previous  ones 
being  tissue-paper  flowers,  lustre  painting,  and  the 
agency  for  a  high-class  stocking  supporter.  I  scold 
Hildegarde  roundly,  and  she  scrambles  sleepily  about 
the  room  to  find  a  note  that  Mrs.  Powers  has  left 
for  me.  I  rejoin  my  court  in  the  street,  and  open 
the  letter  with  anticipation. 

Miss  KATE. 

DEAR  MADDAM.  —  You  complane  of  Lafayette's 
never  getting  to  school  till  eleven  o'clock.  It  is  not 
my  affare  as  Hildegarde  has  full  charge  of  him  and 
I  never  intefear,  but  I  would  sujjest  that  if  you  be- 


BEHIND   THE  SCENES.  31 

leeve  in  him  he  will  do  better.  Your  unbeleef  sapps 
his  will  powers,  you  have  only  reprooved  him  for 
being  late,  why  not  incurrage  him  say  by  paying 
him  5  cents  a  morning  for  a  wile  to  get  amung  his 
little  maits  on  the  stroak  of  nine  ?  "  declare  for 
good  and  good  will  work  for  you "  is  one  of  our 
sayings.  I  have  not  time  to  treet  Lafayette  myself 
my  busness  being  so  engroassing  but  if  you  would 
take  a  few  minites  each  night  and  deny  Fear  along 
the  5  avanues  you  could  heel  him.  Say  there  is  no 
Time  in  the  infinnit  over  and  over  before  you  go  to 
sleep.  This  will  lift  fear  off  of  Lafayette,  fear  of 
being  late  and  he  will  get  there  in  time. 
Yours  for  Good, 

MRS.  POWERS, 

Mental  Heeler. 

Oh,  what  a  naughty,  ignorant,  amusing,  hypocrit- 
ical, pathetic  world  it  is !  I  tuck  the  note  in  my 
pocket  to  brighten  the  day  for  Helen,  and  we  pass 
on. 

As  we  progress  we  gather  into  our  train  Levi, 


32  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

Jacob,  David,  Moses,  Elias,  and  the  other  prophets 
and  patriarchs  who  belong  to  our  band.  We  hasten 
the  steps  of  the  infant  Garibaldi,  who  is  devouring 
refuse  fruit  from  his  mother's  store,  and  stop  finally 
to  pluck  a  small  Dennis  Kearney  from  the  coal-hod, 
where  he  has  been  put  for  safe-keeping.  The  day 
has  really  begun,  and  with  its  first  service  the  hands 
grow  willing  and  the  heart  is  filled  with  sunshine. 

As  the  boys  at  my  side  prattle  together  of  the 
"  percession  "  and  the  "  sojers  "  thev  saw  yesterday, 
I  wish  longingly  that  I  could  be  transported  with  my 
tiny  hosts  to  the  sunny,  quiet  country  on  this  clear, 
lovely  morning. 

I  think  of  my  own  joyous  childhood,  spent  in  the 
sweet  companionship  of  fishes,  brooks,  and  butter- 
flies, birds,  crickets,  grasshoppers,  whispering  trees 
and  fragrant  wild  flowers,  and  the  thousand  and  one 
playfellows  of  Nature  which  the  good  God  has  placed 
within  reach  of  the  happy  country  children.  I  think 
of  the  shining  eyes  of  my  little  Lucys  and  Bridgets 
and  Rachels  could  I  turn  them  loose  in  a  field  of 
golden  buttercups  and  daisies,  with  sweet  wild  straw- 


"THE    BOYS    AT    MY   SIDE   PRATTLE   TOGETHER."     Page  32. 


BEHIND   THE  SCENES.  33 

berries  hidden  at  their  roots ;  of  the  merry  glee  of 
my  dear  boisterous  little  prophets  and  patriots,  if  I 
could  set  them  catching  tadpoles  in  a  clear  wayside 
pool,  or  hunting  hens'  nests  in  the  alder  bushes  be- 
hind the  barn,  or  pulling  yellow  cow  lilies  in  the 
pond,  or  wading  for  cat-o'-nine-tails,  with  their  ragged 
little  trousers  tucked  above  their  knees.  And  oh  ! 
hardest  of  all  to  bear,  I  think  of  our  poor  little  in- 
valids, so  young  to  struggle  with  languor  and  pain  ! 
Just  to  imagine  the  joy  of  my  poor,  lame  boys  and 
my  weary,  pale,  and  peevish  children,  so  different 
from  the  bright-eyed,  apple-cheeked  darlings  of  well- 
to-do  parents,  —  mere  babies,  who,  from  morning  till 
night,  seldom  or  never  know  what  it  is  to  cuddle 
down  warmly  into  the  natural  rest  of  a  mother's  lov- 
ing bosom ! 

Monday  morning  came  and  went,  —  Monday  after- 
noon also  j  it  was  now  two  o'clock,  and  to  my  sur* 
prise  and  disappointment  Patsy  had  not  appeared. 
The  new  chair  with  its  pretty  red  cushion  stood  ex- 
pectant but  empty.  Helen  had  put  a  coat  of  shellac 


34  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

t/n  poor  Johnny  Cass's  table,  freshened  up  its  squared 
top  with  new  lines  of  red  paint,  and  placed  a  little 
silver  vase  of  flowers  on  it.  Our  Lady  Bountiful 
had  come  in  to  pay  for  the  chair  and  see  the  boy, 
but  alas  !  there  was  no  boy  to  see.  The  children 
were  all  ready  for  him.  They  knew  that  he  was  a 
sick  boy,  like  Johnny  Cass,  tired,  and  not  able  to 
run  and  jump,  and  that  they  must  be  good  to  him 
as  they  had  been  to  Johnny.  This  was  the  idea  of 
the  majority ;  but  I  do  not  deny  that  there  was  a 
small  minority  which  professed  no  interest  and 
promised  no  virtue.  Our  four  walls  contained  a 
miniature  world,  —  a  world  with  its  best  foot  for- 
ward, too,  but  it  was  not  heaven. 

At  quarter  past  two  I  went  into  Helen's  little 
room,  where  she  was  drawing  exquisite  illustrations 
on  a  blackboard  for  next  day's  "  morning  talk." 

te  Helen,  the  children  say  that  a  family  of  Ken- 
netts  live  at  32  Anna  Street,  and  I  am  going  to  see 
why  Patsy  did  n't  come.  Oh  yes,  I  know  that  there 
are  boys  enough  without  running  after  them,  but  we 
must  have  this  particular  boy,  whether  he  wants  to 


BEHIND   THE  SCENES.  35 

come  or  not,  for  he  is  sui  generis.     He  shall  sit  on 
that  cushion 

'  And  sew  a  fine  seam, 
And  feast  upon  strawberries, 
Sugar  and  cream! '  " 

"  I  think  a  taste  for  martyrdom  is  just  as  difficult 
to  eradicate  from  the  system  as  a  taste  for  blood," 
Helen  remarked  whimsically.  "  Very  well,  run  on 
and  I  '11  '  receive  '  in  your  absence.  I  could  say  with 
Antony,  '  Lend  me  your  ears,'  for  I  shah1  need  them. 
Have  you  any  commands  ?  " 

"  Just  a  few.  Please  tell  Paulina  Strozynski's  big 
brother  that  he  must  call  for  her  earlier,  and  not 
leave  her  sitting  on  the  steps  so  long.  Teh1  Mrs. 
Hickok  that  if  she  sends  us  another  child  whom  she 
knows  to  be  down  with  the  chicken-pox,  we  won't 
take  in  her  two  youngest  when  they  're  old  enough. 
Don't  give  Mrs.  Slamberg  any  aprons.  She  re- 
turned the  little  undershirts  and  drawers  that  I  sent 
her  by  Julie,  and  said  l  if  it  was  all  the  same  to  me, 
she  'd  rather  have  something  that  would"  make  a  lit- 
tle more  show ! '  And  —  oh  yes,  do  set)  if  you  can 


36  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

find  Jacob  Shubener's  hat ;  he  is  crying  down  in  the 
yard,  and  does  n't  dare  go  home  without  it." 

"  Very  well.  Four  cases.  Strozynski  —  steps 
—  cruelty.  Hickok  —  chicken-pox  —  ingratitude. 
Slamberg  —  aprons  —  vanity.  Shubener  —  hat  — 
carelessness.  Oh  that  I  could  fasten  Jacob's  hat 
to  his  ear  by  a  steel  chain  !  Has  he  looked  in  the 
sink?" 

«  Yes." 

«  Ash-barrel?" 

"Certainly." 

"  Up  in  the  pepper-tree  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  Then  some  one  has  '  chucked '  it  into  the  next 
yard,  and  the  janitor  will  have  to  climb  the  fence5  — 
at  his  age  !  Oh,  if  I  could  eliminate  the  irregular 
verb  '  to  chuck '  from  the  vocabulary  of  this  school, 
I  could  '  make  out  of  the  broken  sounds  of  life  a 
song,  and  out  of  life  itself  a  melody,' "  and  she  flew 
down-stairs  like  a  breeze,  to  find  the  patient  Mr. 
Bowker.  Mr.  Bowker  was  a  nice  little  man,  who 
had  not  all  his  wits  about  him,  but  whose  heart  was 


BEHIND   THE  SCENES.  37 

quite  intact,  and  who  swept  with  energy  and  washed 
windows  with  assiduity.  He  belonged  to  the  Salva- 
tion Army,  and  the  most  striking  articles  of  his  attire, 
when  sweeping,  were  a  flame-colored  flannel  shirt 
and  a  shiny  black  hat  with  "  Prepare  to  Meet  Thy 
God  "  on  the  front  in  large  silver  letters.  The  com- 
bination of  color  was  indescribably  pictorial,  and  as 
lurid  and  suggestive  as  an  old-fashioned  Orthodox 
sermon. 

As  I  went  through  the  lower  hall,  I  found  Mr. 
Bowker  assisting  Helen  to  search  the  coal -bin. 
"  Don't  smile,"  she  cried.  "  Punch  says, '  Sometimes 
the  least  likeliest  place  is  more  likelier  than  the 
most  likeliest,'  —  and  sure  enough,  here  is  the  hat ! 
I  should  have  been  named  Deborah  or  Miriam,  — 
not  Helen !  "  and  she  hurried  to  dry  the  tears  of  the 
weeping  Jacob. 


CHAPTER  V. 

I    SEEK    PATSY,    AND     MEET     THE    DUCHESS    OF   ANNA 
STREET. 

"  'T  is  pride,  rank  pride  and  haughtiness  of  soul.' 

MADE  my  way  through  the  streets,  drinking 
in  the  glorious  air,  breathing  the  perfume 
of  the  countless  fruit  stands  and  the  fra- 
grances that  floated  out  from  the  open  doors  of  the 
little  flower  stores  in  every  block,  till  I  left  all  that 
was  pleasant  behind  me  and  turned  into  Anna  Street. 
I  soon  found  Number  32,  a  dirty,  tumble-down, 
one-story  hovel,  the  blinds  tied  together  with  selvedges 
of  red  flannel,  and  a  rickety  bell  that  gave  a  certain 
style  to  the  door,  though  it  had  long  ceased  to  ring. 
A  knock  brought  a  black-haired,  beetle-browed 
person  to  the  window. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Kennett  live  here?  " 


THE  DUCHESS   OF  ANNA   STREET.  39 

"  No,  she  don't.     I  live  here." 
"  Oh  !  then  you  are  not  Mrs.  Kennett?  " 
"  Wall,  I  ruther  guess  not  !  "     This  in  a  tone  of 
such  royal  superiority  and  disdain  that  I  saw  in  an 
instant  I  had  mistaken  blue  blood  for  red. 

"  I  must  have  been  misinformed,  then.  This  is 
Number  32?" 

"  Can't  yer  see  it  on  the  door  ?  " 
"  Yes,"    meekly.      "  I    thought    perhaps    Anna 
Street  had  been  numbered  over." 

"  What  made  yer  think  Mis'  Kennett  lived  here  ?  " 
"  A  little  girl  brought  me  her  name  written  on  a 
card,  —  Mrs.  Kennett,  32  Anna  Street." 

"  There  !  "  triumphantly,  "  I  might  'a  knowed 
that  woman  'd  play  some  common  trick  like  that ! 
Now  do  you  want  ter  know  where  Mis'  Kennett  re'ly 
doos  live  ?  Wall,  she  lives  in  the  rear  !  Her  num- 
ber 's  32^,  'n  I  vow  she  gits  more  credit  o'  livin'  in 
the  front  house  'n  I  do,  'n  I  pay  four  dollars  more 
rent !  Ever  see  her  ?  I  thought  not !  I  guess  'f 
you  hed  you  would  n't  think  of  her  livin'  in  a  house 
like  this ! " 


40  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"Excuse  me.  I  didn't  expect  to  make  any 
trouble  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  've  nothin'  agin  you,  but  just  let  me  ketch 
her  puttin'  on  airs  'n  pertendin'  to  live  like  her  bet- 
ters, that 's  all !  She  's  done  it  before,  but  I  could  n't 
never  ketch  her  at  it.  The  idee  of  her  keepin'  up 
a  house  like  this ! "  and  with  a  superb  sniff  like  that 
of  a  battle-horse,  she  disappeared  from  the  front 
window  of  her  ancestral  mansion  and  sought  one  at 
the  back  which  might  command  a  view  of  my  meet- 
ing with  her  rival. 

I  slid  meekly  through  a  side  gate,  every  picket  of 
which  was  decorated  with  a  small  child,  stumbled  up 
a  dark  narrow  passage,  and  found  myself  in  a  square 
sort  of  court  out  of  which  rose  the  rear  houses  so 
objectionable  to  my  Duchess  in  the  front  row. 

It  was  not  plain  sailing,  by  any  means,  owing  to 
the  collection  of  tin  cans  and  bottles  through  which 
I  had  to  pick  my  way,  but  I  climbed  some  frail 
wooden  steps,  and  stood  at  length  on  the  landing  of 
Number  32}. 

The  door  was  open,  and  there  sat  Patsy,  "  mind- 


THE  DUCHESS   OF  ANNA   STREET.  41 

ing  "  the  Kennett  baby,  a  dull  little  lump  of  human- 
ity, whose  brain  registered  impressions  so  slowly  that 
it  would  play  all  day  long  with  an  old  shoe  without 
exhausting  its  possibilities. 

Patsy  himself  was  dirtier  than  ever,  and  much 
more  sullen  and  gloomy.  The  traces  of  tears  on  his 
cheeks  made  my  heart  leap  into  my  throat.  "  Oh, 
Patsy,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you ! 
We  expected  you  all  day,  and  were  afraid  you  were  n't 
well." 

Not  a  word  of  response. 

"  We  have  a  chair  all  ready  for  you  ;  it  is  stand- 
ing right  under  one  of  the  plant-shelves,  and  there 
are  three  roses  in  bloom  to-day !  " 

Still  not  a  word. 

"  And  I  had  to  tell  the  dog  story  without  you !  " 

The  effect  of  this  simple  statement  was  very  dif- 
ferent from  what  I  had  anticipated.  I  thought  I 
knew  what  a  child  was  likely  to  do  under  every  con- 
ceivable set  of  circumstances,  but  Patsy  was  des- 
tined to  be  more  than  once  a  revelation  to  me. 

He  dashed  a  book  of  colored  advertisements  that 


42  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

he  held  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room,  threw 
himself  on  the  floor  at  full  length  and  beat  it  with 
his  hands,  while  he  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 
"  There  !  there  !  "  he  cried  between  his  sobs,  "  I 
told  'em  you  'd  tell  it !  I  told  'em  you  'd  tell  it !  I 
told  'em  you  'd  —  but  oh,  I  thought  maybe  you 
would  n't !  "  His  wails  brought  Mrs.  Kennett  from 
a  back  piazza  where  she  was  washing. 

"  Are  you  the  teacher  o'  the  Kids  Guards,  'm  ?  " 

"  Yes."  It  did  not  strike  me  at  the  time,  in  my 
anxiety,  what  a  sympathetic  rendering  of  the  Ger- 
man word  this  was ;  but  we  afterwards  found  that 
"  Kindergarten  "  was  thus  translated  in  Anna  Street. 

"  Patsy  could  n't  go  to-day,  'm,  on  account  of  him 
hevin'  no  good  boots,  'm,  Jim  not  bein'  paid  off  till 
Wednesday,  'n  me  hevin'  no  notice  he  hed  no  clean 
shirt,  'm,  this  not  bein'  his  clean-shirt  week,  'm.  He 
takes  it  awful  hard  about  that  there  story,  'm.  I 
told  him  as  how  you  'd  be  after  tellin'  another  one 
next  week,  but  it  seems  nothin'  will  comfort  him." 

"  Ev'rybuddy  's  allers  lyin'  to  me,"  he  moaned  ; 
"  there  warn't  another  dog  picture  like  that  in  the 
hull  room ! " 


THE  DUCHESS   OF  ANNA   STREET.  43 

"  Don't  take  no  notice  of  him,  'm,  an*  he  '11  git 
over  it ;  he  's  subjick  to  these  spells  of  takin'  on 
like.  Set  up,  Pat,  an'  act  decent !  Tell  the  lady 
you  '11  come  when  you  git  your  boots." 

"  Patsy,  boy,  stop  crying  a  minute  and  listen  to 
me,"  I  said.  "  If  Mrs.  Kennett  is  willing,  I  have 
some  things  that  will  fit  you  ;  you  shall  come  right 
back  with  me  now,  —  all  the  children  have  gone,  — 
and  you  and  I  wih1  be  alone  with  the  sunshine  and 
the  birds  and  the  fishes,  as  we  were  the  other  day, 
and  I  will  tell  you  the  dog  story  just  as  I  told  it  to 
the  other  children  this  morning." 

He  got  up  slowly,  rubbed  his  tattered  sleeve  across 
his  wet  cheek,  and  looked  at  me  searchingly  to  see 
if  I  might  be  trusted ;  then  he  limped  to  the  sink, 
treated  his  face  and  hands  to  a  hasty  but  energetic 
scrub,  seized  his  fragment  of  a  hat,  gave  his  brief 
trousers  a  hitch  which  had  the  air  of  being  the  last 
exquisite  touch  to  a  faultless  toilet,  and  sat  down  on 
the  landing  to  mend  his  twine  shoe-lace. 

"Who  is  your  neighbor  in  Number  32,  Mrs. 
Kennett  ?  "  I  asked  as  I  rose  to  go.  "  I  went  there 
to  find  you." 


44  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Did  you  indeed,  'm  ?  Well,  I  hope  she  treated 
you  civil,  'm,  though  it  don't  be  much  in  her  line. 
She 's  a  Mis'  Mooney,  'm.  I  know  her,  but  she  don't 
know  me  anny  more  sence  she 's  riz  in  the  wurrld. 
She  moved  out  of  this  house  whin  I  moved  into  it, 
but  none  of  us  ladies  here  is  good  enough  for  her  to 
'sociate  with  now,  'm !  You  see  her  husband  was  in 
the  rag,  sack,  and  bottle  business,  'm,  'n  a  wealthy 
gintleman  friend  set  him  up  in  a  fish-cart,  an'  it 's 
kind  of  onsettled  her,  'm !  Some  folks  can't  stan' 
prosperity.  If  't  hed  bin  grad/ooal  like,  she  might 
have  took  it  more  natcheral ;  but  it  come  all  of  a 
suddent,  an'  she  's  that  purse-proud  now,  'm,  that 
she  '11  be  movin'  up  on  Nob  Hill  ef  she  don't  hev  no 
stroke  o'  bad  luck  to  show  'er  her  place  !  Good 
day,  'in ! " 

I  carved  my  way  through  the  tin  cans  and  bottles 
again  under  the  haughty  eye  of  my  Duchess  of  the 
fish-cart,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Patsy  and  I  were 
again  in  Silver  Street. 

When  we  entered  the  room  he  looked  about  with 
an  expression  of  entire  content.  "  It 's  all  here  !  " 


THE  STORY  OF  VICTOR."    Page  45. 


THE  DUCHESS   OF  ANNA   STREET.  45 

he  said  with  a  sigh,  as  if  he  had  feared  to  find  it  a 
dream. 

The  chair  with  its  red  cushion  pleased  him  greatly ; 
then,  after  a  few  moments'  talk  to  make  him  feel  a 
little  at  home,  we  drew  up  to  the  picture,  and  I  took 
his  cleanest  hand  in  mine,  and  told  him  the  story  of 
Victor,  the  brave  St.  Bernard  dog. 

It  was  an  experience  never  to  be  repeated  and 
never  to  be  forgotten ! 

As  you  sit  at  twilight  in  the  "  sweet  safe  corner 
of  the  household  fire,"  the  sound  of  the  raindrops  on 
the  window-pane  mingling  with  the  laughing  treble 
of  childish  voices  in  some  distant  room,  you  see 
certain  pictures  in  the  dying  flame,  —  pictures  un- 
speakably precious  to  every  one  who  has  lived,  or 
loved,  or  suffered. 

I  have  my  memory-pictures,  too  ;  and  from  the 
fairest  frame  of  all  shines  Patsy's  radiant  face  as  it 
looked  into  mine  long  ago  when  I  told  him  the  story 
of  Victor. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A    LITTLE    "  HOODLUM'S  "    VIRTUE    KINDLES    AT   THE 
TOUCH    OF   JOY. 

"  If  you  make  children  happy  now,  you  will  make  them  happy  twenty 
years  hence  by  the  memory  of  it.' ' 

[E  next  morning  when  I  reached  the  little 
tin  shop  on  the  corner,  —  a  blessed  trysting- 
place,  forever  sacred,  where  the  children 
waited  for  me  in  sunshine,  rain,  wind,  and  storm,  un- 
less forbidden,  —  there  on  the  step  sat  faithful  Patsy, 
with  a  clean  and  shining  morning  face,  all  glowing 
with  anticipation.  How  well  I  remember  my  poor 
lad's  first  day !  Where  should  I  seat  him  ?  There 
was  an  empty  space  beside  little  Mike  Higgins,  but 
Mike's  character,  obtained  from  a  fond  and  candid 
parent,  had  been  to  the  effect  "  that  he  was  in 
heaven  any  time  if  he  could  jest  lay  a  boy  out  flat "  ! 
And  there  was  a  place  by  Moses,  but  he  was  very 


VIRTUE  KINDLES  AT  THE  TOUCH  OF  JOY.    47 

much  of  a  fop  just  then,  owing  to  a  new  "  second- 
hand "  coat,  and  might  make  scathing  allusions  to 
Patsy's  abbreviated  swallow-tail. 

But  a  pull  at  my  skirt  and  a  whisper  from  the 
boy  decided  me. 

"  Please  can't  I  set  aside  o'  you,  Miss  Kate  ?  " 
"  But,  Patsy,  the  fun  of  it  is  I  never  do  sit." 
"  Why,  I  thought  teachers  never  done  nothin*  but 
set!" 

"  You  don't  know  much  about  little  boys  and 
girls,  that 's  sure !  Well,  suppose  you  put  your 
chair  in  front  and  close  to  me.  Here  is  Maggie 
Bruce  on  pfe  side.  She  is  a  real  little  Kindergarten 
mother,  and  will  show  you  just  how  to  do  everything. 
Won't  you,  Maggie  ?  " 

We  had  our  morning  hymn  and  our  familiar  talk, 
in  which  we  always  "  outlined  the  policy  "  of  the  new 
day ;  for  the  children  were  apt  to  be  angelic  and 
receptive  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  unwil- 
lingness of  the  spirit  and  weakness  of  the  flesh 
seldom  overtaking  them  till  an  hour  or  so  later.  It 
chanced  to  be  a  beautiful  day,  for  Helen  and  I  were 


48  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

both  happy  and  well,  our  volunteer  helpers  were 
daily  growing  more  zealous  and  efficient,  and  there 
was  no  tragedy  in  the  immediate  foreground. 

In  one  of  the  morning  songs,  when  Paulina  went 
into  the  circle  and  threw  good-morning  kisses  to  the 
rest,  she  wafted  a  dozen  of  them  to  the  ceiling,  a 
proceeding  I  could  not  understand. 

"  Why  did  you  throw  so  many  of  your  kisses  up 
in  the  air,  dear  ?  "  I  asked,  as  she  ran  back  to  my 
side. 

"  Them  was  good-mornings  to  Johnny  Cass,  so  't 
he  would  n't  feel  lonesome,"  she  explained ;  and  the 
tender  bit  of  remembrance  was  followed  out  by  the 
children  for  days  afterward.  Was  it  not  enough  to 
put  us  in  a  gentle  humor  ? 

Patsy  was  not  equal  to  the  marching  when,  later 
on,  the  Lilliputian  army  formed  itself  in  line  and  kept 
step  to  the  music  of  a  lively  tune,  and  he  was  far  too 
shy  on  the  first  day  to  join  in  the  play,  though  he 
watched  the  game  of  the  Butterfly  with  intense  in- 
terest from  his  nook  by  the  piano. 

After  the  tiny  worm  had  wriggled  itself  realisti- 


VIRTUE  KINDLES  AT  THE  TOUCH  OF  JOY.       49 

cally  into  a  cocoon  it  went  to  sleep  ;  and  after  a  mo- 
ment of  dramatic  silence,  the  little  one  chosen  for  the 
butterfly  would  separate  herself  from  the  still  cocoon 
and  fly  about  the  circle,  sipping  mimic  honey  from 
the  child-flowers. 

To  see  Carlotty  Griggs  "  being  a  butterfly,"  with 
utter  intensity  of  joy  and  singleness  of  purpose,  was 
a  sight  to  be  remembered.  For  Carlotty  was  a  pick- 
aninny four  years  old,  and  blacker  than  the  Ace  of 
Spades  !  Her  purple  calico  dress,  pink  apron,  and 
twenty  little  woolly  braids  tied  with  bits  of  yellow  rib- 
bon made  her  the  most  tropical  of  butterflies ;  and 
the  children,  having  a  strong  sense  of  color  and 
hardly  any  sense  of  humor,  were  always  entirely  car- 
ried away  by  her  antics. 

Carlotty  had  huge  feet,  —  indeed,  Carlotty  "  toed 
in,"  for  that  matter ;  but  her  face  shone  with  de- 
light ;  her  eyes  glistened,  and  so  did  her  teeth ;  and 
when  she  waved  her  ebony  hands  and  flitted  among 
the  children,  she  did  it  as  airily  as  any  real  but- 
terfly that  ever  danced  over  a  field  of  clover  blos- 
soms. 


50  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

• 

And  if  Patsy's  joy  was  great  in  the  play,  it  was 
greater  still  in  the  work  that  came  afterward.  When 
Helen  gave  him  a  scarlet  and  gold  mat  to  weave,  his 
fingers  trembled  with  eagerness ;  and  the  expression 
of  his  face  caused  that  impulsive  young  person  to 
fly  to  my  side  and  whisper,  "  Oh,  why  should  one 
ever  (  want  to  be  an  angel '  when  one  can  be  a  Kin- 
dergartner !  " 

From  this  time  on,  Patsy  was  the  first  to  come  in 
the  morning  and  the  last  to  leave  at  night.  He  took 
the  whole  institution  under  his  guardianship,  and 
had  a  watchful  eye  for  everybody  and  everything  be- 
longing to  it. 

He  soon  learned  the  family  history  of  every  child 
in  the  school,  and  those  family  histories,  I  assure 
you,  were  of  an  exciting  nature ;  but  so  great  were 
Patsy's  prudence  and  his  idea  of  the  proprieties  that 
he  never  divulged  his  knowledge  till  we  were  alone. 
Then  his  tongue  would  be  loosed,  and  he  would 
break  into  his  half-childlike,  half -ancient  and  reflec- 
tive conversation. 


CARLOTTY  GRIGGS   "BEMG   A  BUTTERFLY."     Page 49. 


VIRTUE  KINDLES  AT  THE  TOUCH  OF  JOY.      51 

He  had  a  stormy  temper,  which,  however,  he  was 
fast  learning  to  control,  and  he  was  not  always  kind 
and  gentle  with  his  little  playfellows;  for  he  had 
been  raised  in  a  hard  school,  and  the  giving  and 
taking  of  blows  was  a  natural  matter,  to  him  the 
only  feasible  manner  of  settling  a  misunderstanding. 

His  conduct  to  me,  however,  was  touching  in  its 
devotion  and  perfect  obedience  ;  and  from  the  first 
hour  he  was  my  poor  little  knight  sanspeur  et  sans 
reproche. 

Meanwhile,  though  not  perfect,  he  was  greatly 
changed  for  the  better.  We  had  given  him  a  neat 
little  coat  and  trousers,  his  hair  was  short  and  smooth, 
and  his  great  dark  eyes  shone  with  unutterable  con- 
tent. He  was  never  joyous ;  born  under  a  cloud,  he 
had  lived  in  its  shadow,  and  sorrow  too  early  borne 
had  left  its  indelible  impress,  to  be  removed  only  by 
that  "  undisturbed  vision  of  the  Father's  face,  which 
is  joy  unutterable ; "  but  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  was  at  peace. 

The  Duchess  of  Anna  Street  had  moved  into  a 
house  a  trifle  better  suited  to  her  exalted  station  in 


52  THE  STORY   OF  PATSY. 

life  ;  one  where  the  view  was  better,  and  the  society 
worthy  of  a  fish-peddler's  family.  Accordingly  we 
transferred  the  Kennetts  into  Number  32,  an  honor 
which  they  took  calmly  at  first,  on  account  of  the 
odor  of  fish  that  pervaded  the  apartments.  The 
three  and  four  year  old  Kennetts  were  now  members 
of  our  flock,  the  dull  baby  was  cared  for  daily  by 
the  Infant  Shelter,  and  Mrs.  Kennett  went  out  wash- 
ing ;  while  her  spouse  upheld  the  cause  of  labor  by 
attending  sand-lot  meetings  in  the  afternoon  and 
marching  in  the  evening. 

So,  in  the  rainy  winter  afternoons,  when  the  other 
children  had  gone,  Patsy  and  I  stayed  together  and 
arranged  the  next  day's  occupations.  Slang  was 
being  gradually  eliminated  from  his  conversation  ; 
but  it  is  no  small  task  to  correct  nine  years  of  bad 
grammar,  and  I  never  succeeded  in  doing  it.  Alas  ! 
the  time  was  ah1  too  short. 

It  was  Patsy  who  sorted  the  wools  and  threaded 
the  needles,  and  set  right  the  sewing-cards  of  the 
babies ;  and  only  the  initiated  can  comprehend  the 
labyrinthine  maze  into  which  an  energetic  three- 


VIRTUE  KINDLES  AT  THE  TOUCH  OF  JOY.       53 

year-old  can  transform  a  bit  of  sewing.  It  was  he 
who  fished  the  needles  from  the  cracks  in  the  floor, 
rubbed  the  blackboards,  and  scrubbed  the  slates, 
talking  busily  the  while. 

"  Jimmy !  (I  take  that  back.)  Miss  Kate,  we 
can't  let  Jimmy  Buck  have  no  more  needles ;  he  sows 
Jem  thick  as  seed  round  his  chair.  Now,  now  jis' 
look  yere  !  Ef  that  Battles  chap  hain't  scratched 
the  hull  top  of  this  table  with  a  buzzer !  I  'd  lam 
him  good  ef  I  was  you,  I  would." 

"  Do  you  think  our  Kindergarten  would  be  the 
pleasant  place  it  is  if  I  whipped  little  boys  every 
day  ?  " 

"  No-o-o  !     But  there  is  times  "  — 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Patsy,  but  I  have  never  found  them." 

"  Jim 's  stayin'  out  nights,  this  week,"  said  he  one 
day,  "  'nd  I  hez  to  stay  along  o'  Mis'  Kennett  till 
nine  o'clock." 

"  Why,  I  thought  Jim  always  stayed  at  home  in 
the  evening." 

"  Yes,  he  allers  used  ter ;  but  he 's  busy  now 
lookin'  up  a  girl,  don't  yer  know,  " 


54  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Looking  up  a  girl !  What  do  you  mean, 
Patsy  ?  " 

Patsy  scratched  his  head  with  the  "  ten-toothed 
comb  of  Nature,"  —  a  habit  which  prevailed  with, 
terrible  and  suggestive  frequency  when  I  first  came 
"  into  my  kingdom,"  —  and  answered  :  — 

"  Lookin'  up  a  girl !  Why,  I  s'posed  yer  knew 
that.  I  dunno  'zackly.  Jim  says  all  the  fellers 
does.  He  says  he  hates  to  git  the  feed  an'  wash 
the  dishes  orfly,  'nd  girls  likes  ter  do  it  best  of  any- 
thing." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  I,  light  bursting  in  upon  my  dark- 
ened intellect  when  dish-washing  was  mentioned ; 
"  he  wants  to  get  married  !  " 

"  Well,  he  has  ter  look  up  a  girl  first,  don't  yer 


"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  I  don't  see  how  Jim  can 
get  money  enough  to  take  care  of  a  wife.  He  only 
has  thirty  dollars  a  month." 

"Well,  he's  goin'  ter  get  a  girl  what '11  'go 
halveys/  don't  yer  know,  and  pay  for  her  keep. 
He  'd  ruther  have  a '  millingnary  '  girl  —  they  're  the 


VIRTUE  KINDLES  AT   THE   TOUCH  OF  JOY.       55 

nicest ;  but  if  he  can't,  he  's  goin'  to  try  for  one 
out  of  the  box  factory." 

"  Oh,  Patsy !  I  wish  "  — 

«  Why,  did  n't  I  ought  ter  say  that?" 

"I  wish  you  had  a  mother,  dear." 

"  If  I  had,  I  'd  know  more  'n  I  do  now,"  and  a 
great  sigh  heaved  itself  upward  from  beneath  the 
blue  jacket. 

"  No,  you  would  n't  know  so  much,  Patsy,  or  at 
least  you  would  get  the  right  end  first.  Never  mind, 
dear  boy,  you  can't  understand." 

"Jim  says  Mis'  Kennett  'nd  I  needn't  set  such 
store  by  you,  'cause  the  fust  chance  you  gits  you  '11 
git  married."  (I  always  did  have  an  elective  anti- 
pathy for  Jim.)  "  ShaU  yer,  Miss  Kate  ?  " 

"  Why,  dear,  I  think  we  are  very  happy  as  we  are, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ef  I  could  only  stay  f'rever,  'nd  not  go  ter 
the  reel  school.  Jim  says  I  ought  ter  be  gittin' 
book  learnin'  pretty  soon." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that  Miss  Helen  was  teaching 
you  to  read  and  write  a  little  while  every  afternoon  ?  " 


56 


THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 


"  Yes,  I  told  him.  He  liked  it  fust  rate.  Mis' 
Kennett  said  she  'd  let  her  childern  stay  f 'rever  with 
yer,  ef  they  never  larned  a  thing,  'nd  so  would  I, 
dear,  dear  Miss  Kate !  Oh,  I  bet  God  would  like  to 
see  you  in  that  pretty  blue  dress ! "  and  he  hung 
over  me  with  a  speechless  caress ;  his  first,  and  last 
indeed,  for  he  was  shy  and  reticent  in  emotion,  and 
never  once  showed  his  affection  in  the  presence  of  the 
other  children. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PATSY   FINDS    HIS   THREE   LOST   YEARS. 

"  Now  God  be  thanked  for  years  enwrought 
With  love  which  softens  yet. 
Now  God  be  thanked  for  every  thought 
Which  is  so  tender  it  has  caught 
Earth's  guerdon  of  regret." 

ELL,  Jim  did  not  succeed  in  finding  his 
girl,  although  he  "  looked "  industriously. 
Either  the  "  millingnaries  "  did  not  smile 
upon  him  and  his  slender  bank  account,  or  they 
were  not  willing  to  wash  the  dishes  and  halve  the 
financial  responsibilities  besides ;  but  as  the  winter 
days  slipped  by,  we  could  not  help  seeing  that  Patsy's 
pale  face  grew  paler  and  his  soft  dark  eyes  larger 
and  more  pathetic.  In  spite  of  better  care  than  he 
had  ever  had  before,  he  was  often  kept  at  home  by 
suffering  all  too  intense  for  a  child  to  bear.  It 


58  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

was  almost  as  if  a  sixth  sense  came  to  him  in  those 
days,  so  full  was  he  of  strange  thoughts  and  intui- 
tions. His  eyes  followed  me  wistfully  as  I  passed 
from  one  child  to  another,  and  when  my  glance  fell 
upon  him,  his  loving  gaze  seemed  always  waiting 
for  mine. 

When  we  were  alone,  as  he  pored  over  picture- 
books,  or  sat  silently  by  the  window,  watching  the 
drops  chase  each  other  down  the  pane,  his  talk  was 
often  of  heaven  and  the  angels. 

Daga  Ohlsen  had  left  us.  Her  baby  eyes  had 
opened  under  Norway  skies,  but  her  tongue  had 
learned  the  trick  of  our  language  when  her  father 
and  mother  could  not  speak  nor  understand  a  word, 
and  so  she  became  a  childish  interpreter  of  manners 
and  customs  in  general.  But  we  knew  that  mothers' 
hearts  are  the  same  the  world  over,  and,  lacking  the 
power  to  put  our  sympathy  in  words,  we  sent  Daga's 
last  bit  of  sewing  to  her  mother.  Sure  enough,  no 
word  was  needed  ;  the  message  explained  itself  ;  and 
when  we  went  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  dear  child, 
the  scrap  of  cardboard  lay  in  the  still  hand,  the 


HE    SAT    SILENTLY    BY  THE  WINDOW."    Page  58. 


PATSY  FINDS  HIS   THREE  LOST   YEARS.        59 

needle  threaded  with  yellow  wool,  the  childish  knot, 
soiled  and  cumbersome,  hanging  below  the  pattern 
just  as  she  had  left  it.  It  was  her  only  funeral  of- 
fering, her  only  funeral  service,  and  was  it  not  some- 
thing of  a  sermon  ?  It  told  the  history  of  her  in- 
dustry, her  sudden  call  from  earthly  things,  and  her 
mother's  tender  thought.  It  chanced  to  be  a  symbol, 
too,  as  things  do  chance  sometimes,  for  it  was  a  but- 
terfly dropping  its  cocoon  behind  it,  and  spreading 
its  wings  for  flight. 

Patsy  had  been  our  messenger  during  Daga's  ill- 
ness, and  his  mind  was  evidently  on  that  mystery 
which  has  puzzled  souls  since  the  beginning  of  time ; 
for  no  anxious,  weary,  waiting  heart  has  ever  ceased 
to  beat  without  its  passionate  desire  to  look  into  the 
beyond. 

"  Nixy  Jones's  mother  died  yesterday,  Miss  Kate. 
They  had  an  orful  nice  funeral." 

"  Yes,  I  'm  sorry  for  the  poor  little  children ;  they 
will  miss  their  mamma." 

"  Not  'miff  to  hurt  'em !  Them  Joneses  never 
cared  nuthin'  for  nobody ;  they  was  playing  on  tin 


60  THE  STORY   OF  PATSY. 

oyster  cans  the  hull  blessed  ev'nin',  till  Jim  went 
'nd  stop't  'em,  'nd  told  'em  it  warn't  perlite.  Say ! 
how  dretful  it  must  be  to  go  down  into  the  cold, 
dark  ground,  and  be  shut  up  in  a  tight  box,  'nd  want 
to  git  out  —  git  out  —  'nd  keep  hollerin'  'nd  a-hol- 
lerin',  and  nobody  come  to  fetch  yer,  cause  yer  's 
dead!" 

"  Oh,  Patsy,  child,  stop  such  fearful  thoughts ! 
I  hope  people  are  glad  and  willing  to  stay  when 
they  are  dead.  The  part  of  them  that  wonders  and 
thinks  and  feels  and  loves  and  is  happy  or  sad  — 
you  know  what  I  mean,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  slowly,  leaning  his  head  on  his 
hand. 

"  God  takes  care  -of  that  part ;  it  is  His  own, 
and  He  makes  it  all  right.  And  as  for  our  bodies, 
Patsy,  you  don't  care  about  keeping  your  poor  little 
aching  back,  do  you?  You  talk  about  the  cold, 
dark  earth.  Why,  I  think  of  it  as  the  tender, 
warm  earth,  that  holds  the  little  brown  acorn 
until  it  begins  to  grow  into  a  spreading  oak-tree, 
and  nurses  the  little  seeds  till  they  grow  into  lovely 


PATSY  FINDS  HIS   THREE  LOST   YEARS.         61 

blossoming  flowers.  Now  we  must  trot  home, 
Patsy.  Wrap  this  shawl  over  your  shoulders,  and 
come  under  my  umbrella." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  need  any  shawl,  please.  I  'm  so 
orful  hot !  " 

"  That 's  just  the  reason,"  I  replied,  as  I  looked 
with  anxious  eyes  at  his  flushed  cheeks. 

I  left  him  at  the  little  door  on  Anna  Street,  and 
persuaded  Mrs.  Kennett  to  give  him  some  hot  soup 
at  dinner-time. 

The  next  morning  I  was  startled  from  a  profound 
sleep  by  a  tremendous  peal  of  the  door-bell.  Though 
only  half  awakened,  my  forebodings  seemed  real- 
ized ;  and  the  bell  rang  "  Patsy  "  in  my  ears. 

I  hastily  slipped  on  my  dress,  and,  going  to  the 
door,  saw  just  whom  I  expected,  —  Jim. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  Patsy  ?  " 

"  He 's  turrible  bad,  miss ;  he  got  took  with  one 
o'  them  fits  the  worst  kind  in  the  night,  and  liked  ter 
died.  Yer  could  a  heerd  him  screech  a  block  off." 

"  Oh,  my  poor  boy  !  Have  you  had  a  doctor  ? 
What  did  he  say?" 


62  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

"  Well,  he  said  he  guessed  it  was  the  last  one, 
miss,  'nd  I  'm  afraid  it  is,  sure." 

"  Who  is  with  him  now  ?  Are  you  going  right 
back?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  soon  as  I  go  'nd  git  leave  from  the 
boss.  Mis'  Kennett's  went  to  her  washin'.  She 
could  n't  'ford  ter  lose  a  job.  I  found  Mr.  Kennett, 
'nd  he 's  mindin'  Patsy.  He  cries  for  you  ;  he  says 
he  don't  want  nothin'  but  jest  Miss  Kate,  and  he 's 
that  crazy  he  wants  to  git  up  'nd  come  to  the  Kin- 
dergarten." 

"  Dear  little  lad  !  "  I  said,  trying  to  keep  back  the 
tears.  "  Here,  Jim,  take  the  school  keys  to  Miss 
Helen,  and  ask  her  to  take  my  place  to-day.  I  '11 
start  in  ten  minutes  for  Patsy." 

"  Thank  yer,  miss.  I  tell  yer,  he  's  a  crooked  little 
chap,  but  he 's  as  smart  as  they  make  'em ;  'nd  anny- 
how,  he 's  all  the  folks  I  've  got  in  the  world,  'nd  I 
hope  we  kin  pull  him  through." 

"  Pull  him  through ! "  Had  years  passed  over 
Patsy's  head  since  I  saw  him  last  ?  He  seemed  to 


PATSY  FINDS  HIS   THREE  LOST   YEARS.         63 

have  grown  old  with  the  night's  pain,  but  the  eyes 
shone  out  with  new  lustre  and  brilliancy,  making 
ready,  I  thought,  to  receive  the  heavenly  visions. 

We  were  alone.  I  could  not  bear  Mr.  Kennett's 
presence,  and  had  dispatched  him  for  the  doctor.  I 
knelt  by  the  bedside,  and  took  his  cold  hand  in  mine. 
I  could  not  pray  God  to  spare  him,  it  was  so  clear 
that  He  had  better  take  him  to  Himself. 

"  I  knowed  you  'd  come,  Miss  Kate,"  he  said 
faintly ;  "  I  knowed  you  'd  hurry  up ;  you 's  allers 
hurryin'  up  for  us  boys." 

Oh,  how  beautiful,  how  awesome,  it  is  to  be  the 
messenger  of  peace  to  an  unhappy  soul !  So  great 
a  joy  is  it  to  bear  that  it  is  not  given  to  many  twice 
in  a  lifetime. 

The  rain  beat  upon  the  frail  roof,  the  wind  blew 
about  the  little  house,  and  a  darkness  of  fast-gather- 
ing black  clouds  fell  into  the  room  in  place  of  the 
morning  sunbeams.  It  was  a  gloomy  day  for  a  jour- 
ney, but  if  one  were  traveling  from  shadow  into  sun- 
shine, I  thought,  it  would  not  matter  much. 

"  Mis'  Kennett  says  I  must  hev  a  priest,  but  I  don't 


64  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

want  no  priest  but  you,"  whispered  the  faint  voice 
as  I  bent  over  the  pillows.  "  What  does  priests  do 
when  folks  is  sick,  Miss  Kate?" 

«  They  pray,  Patsy." 

"What  fur?" 

I  paused,  for  in  my  grief  I  could  think  of  no 
simple  way  of  telling  that  ignorant  little  child  what 
they  did  pray  for. 

"  They  will  pray  for  you,  dear,"  I  said  at  length, 
"  because  they  will  want  to  talk  to  God  about  the 
little  boy  who  is  coming  to  Him ;  to  tell  Him  how 
glad  they  are  that  he  is  to  be  happy  at  last,  but  that 
they  shall  miss  him  very,  very  much." 

"  The  priest  lives  clear  out  Market  Street,  'nd  he 
wouldn't  git  'ere  'fore  God  knew  the  hull  thing 
'thout  his  tellin'  of  it.  You  pray,  Miss  Kate." 

"  0  thou  dear,  loving  Father  in  Heaven, 
Patsy's  Father  and  mine,  who  givest  all  the  little 
children  into  their  mothers'  arms,  if  one  of  them 
is  lost  and  wandering  about  the  world  forlorn  and 
alone,  surely  Thou  wilt  take  him  to  a  better 


PATSY  FINDS  HIS  THREE  LOST  YEARS.        65 

home  !  We  send  little  Patsy  to  Thee,  and  pray 
that  his  heart  may  be  filled  with  joy  and  thankful* 
ness  when  he  comes  to  live  in  Thy  house." 

"  Tell  'im  'bout  them  three  years  what  I  lost,  so  't 
He  '11  make  'lowance,  jest  as  you  did." 

"  0  God,  who  saw  fit  to  lay  a  heavy  burden 
on  Patsy's  little  shoulders  and  take  away  his 
three  years,  make  them  up  to  him  in  his  heavenly 
life." 

"  Yer  never  said  Amen  !  'T  ain't  no  good  'thout 
yer  say  Amen  !  " 

"Amen!" 

Silence  for  many  minutes.  The  brain  was  alive 
with  thoughts,  but  the  poor  tired  body  was  weakened 
already  with  the  labor  of  telling  them.  When  he 
spoke  again,  it  was  more  slowly  and  with  greater  diffi- 
culty. 

"  I  guess  —  Heaven  —  is  kind  o'  like  —  our  Kin- 
dergartent  —  don't  you  ?  'nd  so  —  I  ain't  goin'  to 


66  THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 

feel  —  strange !  There  '11  be  beautiful  places,  with 
flowers  bloomin'  in  'em,  'nd  birds  'nd  brooks  mebbe, 
like  those  in  the  stories  you  tell  us,  and  lots  of  sing- 
in'  like  we  have ;  and  the  peoples  are  good  to  each 
other,  like  our  children,  'ceptin'  Jimmy  Battles,  — 
'nd  they  '11  do  each  other's  work,  'nd  wait  on  the 
angels,  'nd  run  errants  for  God,  I  s'pose  —  and  every- 
body '11  wear  clean  —  white  —  aprons  —  like  in  the 
picture-books  ;  but  I  sha'n't  like  it  much  'thout  you 
git  there  pretty  quick,  Miss  Kate ;  —  but  I  ain't  goin' 
to  cry  ! " 

"  Oh,  Patsy,  my  boy,  it  is  for  those  who  are  left 
behind  to  cry.  It  must  be  better  to  go." 

"  Well,  I  'm  willin'.  I  've  got  enough  o'  this,  I 
tell  yer,  with  backaches,  'nd  fits,  'nd  boys  callin'  sassy 
names  —  'nd  no  gravy  ever  on  my  pertater  ;  —  but 
I  hate  to  go  'way  from  the  Kindergartent  —  only 
p'raps  Heaven  is  just  like,  only  bigger,  'nd  more 
children  —  'nd  no  Jimmy  Battleses  !  Sing  about 
the  pleasant  mornin*  light,  will  yer,  please  —  Miss 
Kate?" 

And  in  a  voice  choked  with  tears,  as  Jim  came  in 


PATSY  FINDS  HIS   THREE  LOST  YEARS.         67 

and  lifted  Patsy  in  his  arms,  I  sang  the  hymn  that 
he  had  sung,  with  folded  hands  and  reverent  mien, 
every  morning  of  his  lif e  in  the  Kindergarten :  — 

"  Father,  we  thank  Thee  for  the  night, 
And  for  the  pleasant  morning  light ; 
For  rest  and  gladness,  love  and  care, 
And  all  that  makes  the  day  so  fair ! 
Help  us  to  do  the  things  we  should  : 
To  he  to  others  kind  and  good ; 
In  all  we  do,  in  work  or  play, 
To  grow  more  loving  every  day !  " 

The  last  lingering,  trembling  note  fell  upon  the 
death-like  stillness  of  the  room,  as  with  one  sharp, 
brief  struggle,  one  look  of  ineffable  love  and  peace, 
the  tired  lids  drooped  heavily  over  the  eyes  never  to 
be  lifted  again.  Light  had  gleamed  upon  the  dark- 
ened pathway,  but  the  silent  room,  the  dying  fire,  the 
failing  light,  and  the  falling  rain  were  all  in  fellow- 
ship with  Death.  My  blessed  boy  !  God  had  given 
him  back  his  three  lost  years  ! 

"  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  take  to  heart  the  lesson  that 
such  deaths  will  teach,  but  let  no  man  reject  it,  for 
it  is  one  that  all  must  learn.  When  Death  strikes 
down  the  innocent  and  young,  from  every  fragile 


68 


THE  STORY  OF  PATSY. 


form  from  which  he  lets  the  panting  spirit  free  a 
hundred  virtues  rise,  in  shapes  of  mercy,  charity,  and 
love,  to  walk  the  world  and  bless  it.  Of  every  tear 
that  sorrowing  mortals  shed  on  such  green  graves, 
some  good  is  born,  some  gentler  nature  comes." 


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